Dating apps: can the French make it happn?

The French know a thing or two about romance and now they claim to have
produced the perfect dating app. Does it work?

Dating apps: Casilda Grigg and James Innes check out happn. 'Occasionally I spot a fellow 40-something, but most of the men are so young I feel a motherly urge to tell them off,' says CasildaPhoto: Jeff Gilbert

Last time I was in Paris, I was sitting alone in a café when a Frenchman in head-to-toe Lycra blew in. He was unshaven, long-haired and handsome in a soul-in-torment sort of way. With extreme politeness – for Parisians are as rude as they’re polite – he asked if he could join me at my table.

This was not the start of a love story, but one of those flirtatious, faintly louche exchanges for whichParis is famous. French men may lack the height and humour of their British counterparts, but one thing they’re really good at is approaching women.

Which is why “happn”, the newest, hottest dating app, is so surprising. It has come not out of Silicon Valley, or London’s fast-growing equivalent (the so-called “Silicon Roundabout” on Old Street) but out of Paris. Since its launch in France five months ago, happn claims to have garnered 150,000 users. And within five weeks of launching in the UK, 25,000 people have signed up. “I have seen so many hot guys today that I wish I had been on happn,” tweeted one user. “Elle est top la nouvelle appli,” said another.

So what exactly is a dating app? In the old days online dating was an arduous business that involved writing long profiles and filling in elaborate questionnaires. Now there’s an altogether simpler, more instant way to meet people, based on GPS technology in your smartphone. Signing up is simple. All you have to do is supply the skimpiest of personal information (and your Facebook network), upload a picture or two, and – bingo! – you’ll be met with dozens of potential partners.

Designed to facilitate what one French magazine racily refers to as des rencontres fugaces (fleeting encounters), happn operates within a radius of 250m, which is good news if you live in the capital, bad if it’s the Brecon Beacons. Why a country that invented champagne, bikinis and Chanel should need it is anybody’s guess but Londoners in their 20s and 30s (and occasionally 40s) are lapping up happn’s English language version and the app is already planning a similar conquest of Berlin. “In London people are so busy running for the bus,” says happn’s Marie Cosnard. “They don’t have time to look at other people.”

Happn’s premise is that our lives are filled with “near misses”. That dream partner could be anybody in your vicinity – the craggy TV cameraman picking out an avocado at Tesco while you inspect the asparagus, the pretty lawyer sitting opposite you on the Tube to work. Why not simply say hello? “The app is meant for shy people,” says Cosnard, who tells me she’s heard about people falling in love via happn. “Happn helps launch a conversation. It’s the perfect icebreaker.”

Gallic charm: one of the French women used to advertise happn

So how does it work? When you cross paths with a fellow user, wherever you are, their profile photo pops up on your phone. If you click on it a small map comes up showing (roughly) where your paths crossed, along with their (scant) personal details (generally just their first name, age and profession). If you fancy the person, you click on a small red heart (known as a Like). If the feeling’s mutual the app announces “It’s a crush” and you can start messaging each other. If there’s no response, you have a last ditch option of sending the person a 'charm’. If it’s accepted, it’s a crush.

Psychologist Rita Gomes, 34, says she has come across “lots of interesting, sweet guys” since she downloaded the app four weeks ago. She believes that conventional dating filters based on common interests are less likely to throw up eligible males than the newer location-based apps. “I believe in randomness,” she says. “I’m not looking for someone who likes the same books and sports as I do.” No-shows are common on internet-triggered dates but Gomes’s belief is that happn, with its narrow 250m radius, encourages good behaviour. “It puts more social responsibility on people. You’re far less likely to be rude to someone who lives or works in the same neighbourhood.”

For older generations, it’s easy to shudder at a world where love – or at the very least sex – is only a smartphone away. Are dating apps exciting or scary? Will they make us more lonely or less?

We don’t yet know but the digital dating landscape is evolving so fast thanks to happn and apps such as Tinder that people of all ages risk missing out if they don’t join in. If your friends are married and rarely introduce you, what other option is there but the internet? “Ten years ago we might have been ashamed about dating apps and websites,” says Nadia Bensalah, a 34-year-old advertising executive. “But now, if you’re not on them, you’re probably out of the game.”

So what happens when two people – myself and a friend, James Innes – decide to test out France’s hip new app? In our mid 40s, we are both looking for amour. Will we find that much desired coup de foudre or will we be wallflowers in our own town?

CASILDA'S STORY

You can see why people love mobile dating apps. They’re quick and easy, especially if you have a tech-savvy neighbour like I do. With the help of Lily, who patiently pours me a glass of wine when I announce I’ve lost my iTunes password, I download the happn app onto my iPhone.

We only have one run-in, when Lily insists I leave the age range open. “But that’s 18- to 70-year-olds,” I wail. “So?” she replies. “Is there any reason for making the pond even smaller?”

An hour later I’m in virtual cougar land and Lily is back in her flat. Even though I’m home alone on a Friday evening I’m told my paths have crossed with a doctor called Mark, 27, a business consultant called Mohammed, 24, and Fabrice, 28, a designer. There’s even a little map that comes up. I dash to the window, incredulous that these loveless pipsqueaks should be roaming my neighbourhood. The street is pin-drop quiet.

Making it happn: Casilda Grigg checks her phone while testing out the French app (JEFF GILBERT)

In just three days more than 200 profiles come up. While I perform dull tasks like buying soap powder and ringing the council, men of all descriptions pour into my iPhone like molten lava – sporty, solvent-sounding men whose numbers shoot up whenever I step into busy parts of town. It’s all quite cosmopolitan, though not specifically French – lots of Flavios and Dimitris in among the Jakes and Gavins.

In Shoreditch, where happn reports high traffic, my timeline goes into overdrive. Occasionally I spot a fellow 40-something, but most are so young I feel a motherly urge to tell them off: “For God’s sake get your hair cut!” or “Don’t you have a clean shirt you can put on?” Others look wildly attractive, from a service-provider perspective. There’s Kyle, 26, a computer expert, Kenneth, 37, a chauffeur, and Spiros, 41, a bar manager surely born to mix me margaritas.

In Spitalfields Market I scroll through more profiles. It’s all quite compulsive in an unromantic way. There are men in ski goggles, men hugging dogs and painting murals. I click on a few red hearts, just for the hell of it, and get an instant response from “Lorenzo, 42”, who apparently passed within range near Boundary Street one hour ago. “It’s a crush!” announces the app.

I stare at Lorenzo’s profile picture, filled with wonder. He’s wearing a blue tailored shirt, very Italian, and there are books behind him. He’s good looking, nothing showy, just very classic, and he’s in international relations, which strikes me as exactly the right sort of job for a man on happn. I click on “Chat” and compose my first message.

I’m four hours into using happn, I’ve sent several “likes”, and I haven’t received a single “crush” (meaning someone has taken the trouble to fancy me back). One obvious issue is my age. My profile photo is of a man in the mid section of life (the flecks of grey don’t lie) whereas my profile says I’m a mere 26. So happn, how did this happen?

The happn app is linked to Facebook and that’s where the problem lies. As a wary Facebook user, I’m fussy about sharing my details with the electronic world. But Facebook abhors a vacuum. So instead of leaving my age blank, the elves in Silicon Valley have given me a default birthday: August 1 1989. I fire off an email to “Margot” at happn asking her to correct it.

Amour and the app: James Innes compares notes with Casilda Grigg (JEFF GILBERT)

I’m told happn attracts a classier kind of lonely heart so I head to Whole Foods Market on Kensington High Street where the beautiful ones buy their coconut juice.

With iPhone in hand I flick my finger down the list of female photos to see who’s within the 250m radius covered by the app. Several young beauties have crossed my path in the last 10 minutes, including Sue, 24, CEO of a design company, and Ellie, 23, a Chelsea Football Club official. I send out likes to both (I’m not sure if happn’s “Margot” is a real person or a virtual receptionist, but she hasn’t updated my age yet so maybe I’m in with a chance).

From Whole Foods I jump on a Boris bike towards Chelsea. At Daunt Books on the Fulham Road a pretty blonde tips me a sweet smile. I fire up the phone. Staring back at me is a face that could easily belong to her, although this girl is behind mega sunglasses. I take a chance and send her a “like”. After a short walk around the block I bump into Daunt girl exiting the shop.

“Is this you?” I ask, holding up my phone.

“No, sorry. I don’t do online dating. I think it’s sad.”

“Oh but this is a dating app, it’s really cool.”

“Sad.”

And with that she disappears down a side street.

I have now sent likes to more than 30 people and received two “charms” from girls I don’t fancy: Jenny, 26, a banker, and Louise, 25, a make-up artist. My attempts to strike up a conversation have yielded a couple of smiley-faced icons.

After hours of hard slog through some of London’s most glamorous neighbourhoods I rest on a bench in Holland Park. In a last-ditch attempt to find a meaningful connection I begin “charming” what seems like the entire female population of happn.

“Why the long face?”

I turn to find an attractive German girl in her mid 30s sitting next to me.

“Oh, it’s this new dating app thing,” I explain. “It’s all about linking up with all those lovely people you pass in the street and never have the courage to speak to.”

“Not working out?”

“No.”

“Well, you’re speaking to me aren’t you? Not so hard is it?”

And for the first time in what seems like days I’m engaged in a real conversation with a real human being and it feels great. In no time at all we’re chatting about everything from why the peacocks of Holland Park are more impressive than the peahens to whether true romance is possible after 35. Helga is spectacularly nice so I ask her to meet me for dinner the following day.

Queen bee of the app dating scene is Tinder, which made its debut in LA 18 months ago. Described as a female-friendly Grindr (the groundbreaking app for gay men that was launched in 2009), Tinder has 10 million users worldwide and a reputation for “hookups” (i.e. casual sex) which it is trying to shed. It’s been in the news recently after Whitney Wolfe, Tinder’s former vice president for marketing,filed a sexual harassment lawsuit against Justin Mateen, a Tinder co-founder.

Tinder’s location function allows users to find matches up to 100 miles away but its real genius is its simple, face-saving swipe mechanism – swipe right to show you’re keen, swipe left to show you aren’t. (The internet is currently buzzing with advice on how to get “right-swiped”.) A chat box only appears if you both like each other.

“The attraction for me is that it’s a quick way to meet people,” says Nick Gibbins, a 40-year-old multimedia producer. “Once you’ve reached my age most of your friends are married so anything you can do to expand your network is potentially interesting.” Gibbins, who has met someone he “quite likes” on Tinder, sees it as “just a bit of fun” but fears it can make people more cut off not less. “For some people Tinder is just an ego boost. It’s about collecting people and chatting rather than meeting face to face.”

Others are more positive. US-born City broker Julia Martinez, 51, says everyone she knows has met on Tinder. “No one admits to it. Two guys I’ve dated told their friends we met in a guitar shop.”

Love me Tinder: The app is cleaning up its image after earning a reputation for casual sex

A friend at work persuaded me to join Tinder. I’d split up from a girlfriend some time ago so my team were obviously going on at me to move on, and Tinder sounded like a light-hearted and easy way to meet people. I’m not as young as I used to be and going out to bars every Friday and Saturday night just wasn’t sustainable, particularly because I work such long hours. The app fitted my lifestyle — and Jenny’s, too, it turned out — because you don’t even have to read through someone’s profile. You just decide whether you like how they look and go from there. I enlisted a friend to help choose my profile photos and we stuck to some unwritten rules: you need one photo of you being active, in my case snowboarding, one of you looking smart at a wedding and then something silly, like a fancy dress picture with a big smile. I had a couple of matches initially but I kept thinking that I didn’t really want to be doing this. Then after one unsuccessful first date, I matched with Jenny. We chatted a little bit through the app and I gave her my number, then we met up a week later. A bus had to slam on its brakes as I crossed the road to meet her because I was so busy noticing how gorgeous she looked. I knew straight away that she was the girl of my dreams.

Jenny says:

I carpet bombed the entire internet dating scene a few years ago. Match.com, My Single Friend — I was on all of them. Then I just got a bit bored of the whole profile-writing thing. I joined Tinder when everyone started talking about it because I thought, “If he’s out there, he’s going to be on this.” I loved it because it was so convenient — you could just swipe on the go and you didn’t have to faff around with a profile and log on to a laptop when you got home. I think you can tell a lot about someone by what they say when they first connect with you, and I did have some howlers: one person just said, “Hi”. That’s not normal conversation! Simon had the best opening line. It was autumn, and he wrote that the only thing to do on a cold night like this was to find a pub fire and open a bottle of red wine. I thought, “Yes! Perfect.” He was so much better looking in the flesh than in his photos, and my heart melted when he started moving the furniture around in the pub so I was comfortable. Four incredible dates later we did a dual deletion of the Tinder app, and our wedding date is set for August 2015!